WHEN is the last time you tried to bargain down the price on something you were buying? My bet is you can’t remember, if ever. The art of bargaining seems to have died out while for past generations bargaining a price was the norm.
I remember my father taking his four sons into town to buy school clothes. He’d always wait until the shop assistant had wrapped up our uniforms and had handed him the bill; then the pantomime would begin. Father would look at the receipt and let out a theatrical shout of shock; he’d wave the receipt at the assistant – holding it by its edge as if it were on fire. As the eldest, I’d been through this game many times, and as a horrifically shy child, found it embarrassing.
Not that the shop assistant was annoyed; he appeared to enjoy playing the bargaining game with Dad. He’d explain the quality of the clothes, only to see this explanation rebuffed with a counter-argument requesting a discount for buying in bulk. After much to and froing, eventually the assistant would, with great ceremony, take out his pen, scribble a new total on the receipt and hand it to my father. I’d breathe a sigh of relief only for Dad to look at it and say, "Well, we’re getting near". Eventually, one of them would run out of interest and a reduced amount of monies changed hands.
Sadly, I have not inherited my father’s negotiating abilities. I’m a wimp when it comes to getting a bargain. I’m so bad if I tried to haggle there’s every chance I’d end up paying more than the asking price.
The only time I ever made an effort was when I bought my first new car; even I knew there was some wriggle room with such a big purchase, but what I hadn’t factored in was the skill of the car dealer. There’s a saying we have in Belfast: the man sucked me in and blew me out in a big bubble. Not only did I end up paying the full price but he somehow managed to also sell me an insurance policy and a personalised number plate. I hate personalised number plates but, due to my ineptitude, I’m driving around with one today.
Another example of my naivety came when I started working away from home. I was playing a comedy club in London with an American comic. We booked into our hotel at the same time and were given adjacent rooms. While I found mine acceptable, I could hear that my American counterpart didn’t like his, and loudly insisted on a change.
I didn’t get talking to him until I came off stage later that evening. I’d presumed there was some major problem with his room but no – he told me the room was fine but he had a policy of never accepting the first two rooms any hotel offered to him. I asked what he’d have done if they’d said that was the only room they had? He explained there were always better rooms, and the last thing any hotel wants is a disgruntled customer standing arguing at their front desk.
Fast forward six years and I’m on a multi-centre holiday in Egypt with my wife. The hotel accommodation had been excellent but, upon our arrival in Luxor, the first room we were allocated was adjacent to a bar and noisy. I refused it and had the porter take us back to reception. Keys were changed and off to the second room – both bigger and quiet, yet once again, I indignantly refused and returned to reception. My wife thought I’d heat stroke; what she didn’t know was I’d remembered what my comic friend had said to me all those years earlier.
After a short meeting among the reception staff and management, a new porter transported us to the final room. My wife mumbled to me in the lift that they’d stick us in a cupboard as punishment. Instead, we spent the next five days in a luxury apartment at the very top of the hotel with a balcony so big, overlooking the Nile, you could have held a wedding on it.
I’m not suggesting you always refuse hotel rooms – I have to admit I haven’t since that holiday – but I am suggesting it pays to not be too accommodating when renting accommodation. What’s the worst can happen? Maybe they’ll say ‘no’, but they might just say ‘yes’.
